


I Like My Coffee Like I Like My Men

by MJ (mjr91)



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Coffee, Coffee machine, Humor, M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-26
Updated: 2012-04-26
Packaged: 2017-11-04 09:00:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/392075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mjr91/pseuds/MJ
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Torchwood loves coffee.  Its coffee maker loves Ianto.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Like My Coffee Like I Like My Men

Torchwood: repository of alien artifacts, and some few non-alien but nonetheless unusual ones. There was in it one artifact that had dwelt in its own special niche in Torchwood One, back at Canary Wharf. Now it held its own even more special niche at Torchwood Three, in the Hub, in a special place of honor, prized above all other unusual and inexplicable technology.

It had many highly unusual and desirable characteristics – its sleek aesthetic that made the onlooker sigh in admiration; its speed in the performance of its appointed uses; its durability that made it impervious to attack (even from Owen). The quality of its performance was unassailable.

It was the most perfect artifact of its kind, made even more unusual by its other observable characteristic, a kind of bonding with its owner. It did not seem to respond to oral command, to fingerprints, to eye scan, key coding, or other known forms of recognition programming, but somehow seemed to know who its regular and intended user should be.

Such programming, if it were programming, would be indispensable if only Tosh could discover the secrets within its wiring and circuitry. A weapon that responded only to use by one person, a tool that could not be handled by someone who should not be allowed to access it, and the idea that the thing would somehow instinctively recognize its proper ownership? The possible applications were endless, and certain Torchwood members (quite naturally Owen) were enthralled by the concept, but not by the blatantly obvious fact that this particular item was not willing to be operated by just any alien hunter.

No, the coffee machine was quite definitely Ianto's. Others had tried operating it (Owen recalled the incident vividly) and were rewarded by… nothing. Still others (most definitely not Owen) could operate it at its most basic levels, yet produce a product that could only be termed coffee by the most generous of souls. To Ianto, it responded like a kitten whose ears are being scratched tenderly at that spot just behind them, right there, yes, that only its devoted owner can locate instantly. It purred for Ianto with all its might, and if a machine could flop over on its side and dangle its paws charmingly, no doubt it would. Ianto could touch it gently, and it would produce a cup of espresso (the bastard had done right in front of Owen, the nerve of him, when Jack had relegated Owen to permanent coffeemaking status just because he was dead) the scent, the steam, the rich froth of which was capable of producing something near orgasm (Ianto had made Owen watch, damn him) as the recipient brought it near their face. 

Jealous would-be users (particularly Owen) had attempted to defend themselves and their reputations either by attempting to attack it, which was doomed to failure, or to commit verbal assault against its beloved user (could Owen help it if the machine's obvious bondmate was also mating with the boss?), all to no avail. The coffee machine loved Ianto, and Ianto alone.

Who could blame it (besides Owen)? Ianto's hands polished it daily, cleaned it, ran water through it, ground its coffee beans to a fine powder that never clogged its filters, adjusted the espresso holders just so, and pressed its buttons and pushed its switches with a perfect gentleness that only the cheapest broken percolator could fail to respond to. Ianto gazed at it, every time they met, with a look closely akin to rapture. Perhaps it was from the knowledge of the delights produced from the intimacy of their encounter. 

Ianto only ever looked at one other thing in the Hub the same way he looked at the coffee machine (and that thing was definitely not Owen).

And if the coffee machine had its way, it would have a shocking, ungrounded electrical malfunction lined up just for Jack Harkness if it could ever lure him close enough to touch it.

For alas, while the coffee machine could bond with its owner, could reject others (that meant Owen) who came near it, and could know jealousy, no one had explained to it about immortality.


End file.
